#intromusic

𝙵𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙰) Notice how the heart begins to sting at the sound of his voice. The familiar flutter of her heart moves like a wave; it beckons to move her towards him, return her to her own sea, and as she remains firm against all odds the flutter transcends into hands that begin to shake. 𝙵𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙱) Gentleness is a virtue. Disposition is soft. Holiness is in the hands. No one can tell as long as they remain in motion, and so after Mary dares to open the door they return clasped to one another in their usual fashion. Still wriggling, still nervous.

"Arthur, I'm sorry." Her apologies have underwent semantic satiation: they almost mean nothing, she thinks, even if she means every single one of them. Yet she doesn't let him speak yet. She's afraid of what he might say. "I didn't know Jamie was goin' to do that. Any of it. He's so... temperamental lately. He'll be so much happier when he's away at college, away from daddy..."

@intromusic starter call / he remains within the gray area of wondering what is appropriate and what is not. at the end of the day, he is but her sworn shield – an expendable piece that could easily be replaced. (whether she'll take kindly to another is a matter to be wondered neither here nor there.) but have they not crossed a line when at an ungodly hour she permitted him to call her by her given name? alicent. only to be spoken in privacy when no eyes can wander, when no ears will hear them.

does that not make them friends? and as a friend (with affections sheathed, stuffed down so deep), his hand clasps around her own. a look of concern riddled within his eyes, brows furrowed as he held her hand before him – silently inspecting. (when had she started this habit once more? the skin surrounding her nailbeds have seen better days.) he moves his hand until his palm meets smaller palm; his fingertips just barely weaving between hers – simply supporting her. ❝ i wonder what it is that troubles you, your – alicent. ❞

SuperWhoGamer Intro (New Logo) 

Felicity could be the sun,  all light and warmth embodied.  To shield one’s eyes would be a disservice,  Andromeda is convinced,  not a mercy.  Ever drawn into her orbit,  the previous distance between them was and is meaningless.

Yet,  Andromeda hadn't expected the sentiment to be shared.  Taken aback,  she blinks once,  twice,  three times total.   "Really?"   she blurts,  cheeks pinking as her bewildered tone rings red-hot in her ears.

@intromusic : REGRET & RESENTMENT AND THINGS THAT FALL IN BETWEEN.

she puts on a brave face and he hardly recognizes the child he'd last seen. he and sansa had never been close, but he'd grown up raised beside the her. what he sees before him now is no girl, but a woman grown. (and last he'd remembered of her, she was a bit of a brat.) something solemn within her eyes, something he does not pry answers for. whatever she's gone through these past years have forever changed her. (much like how he is forever changed.)

❝ i won't allow any harm to come to you, ❞ a promise made after their reunion. he gives her hand a squeeze before releasing. ❝ we're safe now; stronger together with family. ❞

her response causes him to pause. never before had she ever extended the family name towards him. he would expect her to mean those words for herself, never him. ❝ we will survive … but i am no stark, ❞ a hint of a smile forms. one of understanding and acceptance. but a new sense of appreciation for her.

Fox didn't like being inside. Sitting beside people who sat too close or tried to share glances or accidentally dozed off. Cloistered between walls that felt ever encroaching on pews that creaked given the slightest movement. No, that wasn't quite right. She liked to listen from outside the closed door, preferred to hear the dampened homily with eyes closed against the sunshine. Breathing in the smoke of a lit, un-smoked cigarette. It was a bad habit in the way being here felt like a bad habit. Tethered to the familiarity of it, craving the sensation that there was something more, something greater--the shame was familiar too. Maybe that's why she disliked sitting inside, she hated that there were witnesses. So, instead, she sat on the steps and waited for it to end. Waited for the doors to open, for the shoes to begin passing by, for the snippits of conversation to flow past her.

Usually, she'd be gone by now. Cigarette snuffed out on the steps ( was that a sin? ), hands in her pockets, heading anywhere but here. Today, she stayed, lingered a little longer watching the people nearby tuck into their cars or discuss lunch plans. Perhaps it was God letting her know it was time, or, more likely, she'd not slept well and the thought of getting up just now wasn't as appealing as it usually was. There was something about nightmares that she always associated with the confessional.

Standing, after the ceremonial cigarette snuff, Fox took a steadying breath and turned toward the open doors. Not expecting a priest to already be there. God and His sense of humor. "I...I was just leaving."

“ been awhile now. ” her drawl is careful, a hush in the night. it's low like the flames they crowd for warmth, embers in ash and dried leaves. winter in the south is harsh, especially in the end of it all. though she's grown use to fires and layers of old clothes. anything to keep the chill out. “ figured you needed it. ” she's tired more these days too, especially beneath the weight of it. something new found, something bitter. it's left in the field of a prison, only comfort she knows was michonne who promised her father was given a proper end. she hears @intromusic shift, careful cracks in foliage beneath his weight. she wonders if it's just as heavy for him too. if it sits differently like responsibility. “ ready to switch out? ” his response is but a sigh of acknowledgment.